Moonveil  on Aerthos gleamed brighter than any day.

The capital shimmered under twin moons, its towers webbed with silver light and drifting airwalks that pulsed with soft energy veins. The Summit dome rose at the city’s heart—its crystal spires cutting into the sky like living glass.

From one of the upper terraces, Rue stood silent, cloak brushing against the edge rail as traffic glided far below. Prism adjusted her gloves, glancing down through the transparent floor.

> “So this isn’t a casual walk,” she murmured. “We’re visiting the Aviary Envoys’ tower. Pretty high-profile for a bedtime chat.”

Rue didn’t look at her. “You wanted field work.”

Prism grinned. “Field work, yeah. I just didn’t think the field would come with chandeliers and gold door frames.”

Rue’s voice was even. “You’re here to observe. And behave.”

Prism’s grin widened. “I always behave. Sometimes.”

Rue turned then—slow, unimpressed. “Third.”

Prism smiled, letting her split jaw flex slightly, the faint glint of teeth catching the terrace light. “Fine. I’ll smile and look handsome.”

Rue exhaled through her nose, unamused but faintly amused all the same.

---

The lift doors opened into the Aviary Envoys’ suite, the air still warm with the scent of nectar steam and moon-tea.

Nyra appeared first, wings fluttering in mild panic. “Commander! Third Lieutenant! Saints above—you didn’t send word you were coming during moonveil.”

Behind her, Luma looked up from the low table where healing vines still traced faint light along her wrists. She was barefoot, her glow softer now—calmer, but unmistakably alive.

Prism’s grin softened the moment she saw her. “You’re looking better, Envoy. Guess Aerthos agrees with you.”

Rue’s head turned—slow, deliberate. The look she gave her lieutenant could have frozen plasma.

Prism cleared her throat, hands sliding behind her back. “Observation only, Commander.”

Nyra, ever sensitive to tone, fluttered forward in a rush to fill the silence. “She’s resting well, Commander! The healers say her vitals are steady and the resonance residue’s down forty percent.”

Luma smiled faintly, easing Nyra aside with a gentle touch. “Thank you, Nyra.” Her gaze moved to Rue. “What brings the Commander and her Third Lieutenant to the suite during moonveil?”

Rue’s expression softened by a fraction. “If you’re not too exhausted, I’d like you to join me for a short flight.”

Nyra’s wings twitched, half-swoon, half-panic. “A—flight? With the Commander?”

Prism smirked. “Careful, Envoy. You’ll make her nervous.”

“Third.” Rue’s tone was warning steel.

“Behaving,” Prism said quickly, though her grin lingered.

Nyra clasped her hands, glowing with excitement. “Little Glow—Miss Nova—should absolutely go. The upper currents are divine.”

Luma’s blush deepened. “I suppose the air might be nice.”

Rue extended a gloved hand—steady, patient, undeniably formal. “Then allow me.”

The balcony shields disengaged with a soft hiss, opening the air to the twin moons.

Wind stirred Rue’s coat and Luma’s silks. The capital glittered below them like a constellation made of cities.

Rue’s wings unfolded—dark glass against silver sky. “Ready?”

Luma hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Lead the way, Commander.”

With one shared leap, they rose into the moonveil.

The capital stretched beneath them in ribbons of gold and green—polished towers threaded through with living vines that pulsed faint light. For a long while, neither spoke. The sound of the city faded, replaced by the hush of the wind—the rhythm of wings.

Rue’s voice carried low over the breeze. “You fly like you belong to this place.”

Luma smiled softly. “Maybe I do. The vines hum when I walk. The wind knows my name.”

“You talk to Aerthos as if it’s alive.”

“It is,” she whispered. “You just have to listen long enough to hear it breathe.”

The air shimmered between them. Rue reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of Luma’s wing. “And what does it say now?”

Luma turned toward her, golden glow meeting violet light. “That you didn’t come up here just for the view.”

Rue’s mouth twitched—a near smile. “Perceptive.”

“Then why?” Luma asked.

Rue’s gaze softened, unreadable. “It’s been a long time since I’ve flown with someone who didn’t want anything from me.”

Luma’s glow flared faintly. “Then let me be the first to want nothing but the sky.”

Rue looked away, grounding herself against something she wasn’t ready to feel. “Careful, Moonlight. That kind of wanting gets dangerous.”

Luma’s voice was barely audible. “So is pretending you don’t.”

They drifted in silence, wings cutting through silver air, the city far below glimmering like an ocean of starlight.

Rue’s hand lifted—instinct, not command—stopping just shy of Luma’s cheek. Shadows reached. Light answered.

Luma’s breath caught, golden glow flaring where Rue’s shadow brushed it. “Commander…”

Rue’s voice steadied, though softer than she meant. “Aerthos listens when you speak like that.”

“And what does it hear?”

Rue’s smirk curved slow, unreadable. “Everything I’m trying not to say.”

Luma fluttered closer before she could stop herself, fingers brushing the front of Rue’s coat. The faint hum beneath it thrummed with her pulse. “What are you trying not to say, Commander Smokey Eyes?”

Rue went still. Her gaze traced the shimmer of Luma’s fur, the glow rising in waves where their bodies almost touched. A low sound escaped—half chuckle, half exhale.

“That name will follow me forever, won’t it?”

“Unless you give me something else to call you.”

Rue tilted her head, ghost of a smile touching her lips. “Tempting.”

The current pulsed—light and shadow pressing close, folding together for a suspended heartbeat. Rue leaned in, close enough for her breath to stir the fine fur along Luma’s ear.

“Careful, Moonlight,” she murmured. “Keep saying things like that, and I might actually answer.”

The world stilled around them, the moons trembling across their eyes. Rue’s composure cracked, just for a breath, before she pulled back, voice quiet. “Come. Let me fly you home.”

Luma smiled, soft and knowing. “Only if you promise not to run next time.”

Rue didn’t answer—but her eyes, violet brightening toward silver, said everything she couldn’t.

“Hold on, Moonlight,” she said, wings unfolding.

The wind carried them into the stars.

Below the balcony, the suite’s quiet returned in slow ripples of sound.

Nyra fluttered toward the open door, half dazed, half delighted. “Well,” she breathed, “didn’t that look like somethin’ straight outta a saint’s painting.”

Prism was still leaning against the rail, eyes tracking the twin lights vanishing into the moonveil. “Never seen the Commander break formation like that,” she murmured. “Guess Aerthos brings out her soft edges.”

Nyra grinned, wings flicking. “Or maybe it’s your Commander who’s just got a heart hid under all that armor.” She tipped her head, studying Prism. “You always stand that close to danger, Lieutenant, or you just like the view?”

Prism snorted. “I’m paid to watch her six, not the skyline.”

“Mm-hmm.” Nyra’s drawl curved around the syllables like honey. “Still, you watch with a mighty steady gaze.”

Prism turned, caught off guard by the look in those wide, amber eyes. “You always talk this smooth, or is it the accent?”

“Sugar, that is the accent.” Nyra stepped closer, smile playful but sure. “You could use a little charm yourself—might keep folks from thinkin’ you bite.”

“I do bite.” Prism’s grin flashed; the split in her jaw showed for half a heartbeat. “Usually stops people from testin’ me twice.”

Nyra didn’t flinch. “Maybe I ain’t most people.”

That earned a laugh—low, genuine, the kind Prism didn’t give often. “Dangerous thing to say to a soldier.”

Nyra’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sweetheart, I’ve served tea in House Swan. You don’t scare me.”

Prism’s gaze dragged down, then back up, sharp and assessing. “You flirt like you fight—reckless.”

“And you like it,” Nyra said, matter-of-fact, wings twitching with mischief.

Prism tilted her head, the grin returning slow. “Maybe I do.”

The silence that followed was anything but empty—moonlight catching on Prism’s visor lenses, warm glow playing across Nyra’s skin.

Finally Prism pushed off the railing, brushing past her on the way to the door. “Careful, Envoy. You keep talkin’ like that, I might start visiting this suite without orders.”

Nyra’s laugh followed her down the hall. “Door’s always open, Lieutenant. I make a mean cup of midnight nectar.”

Prism paused at the door, that crooked grin creeping back.

“A mean cup of midnight nectar, huh? Careful—someone might think that’s an invitation.”

Nyra’s eyes glittered, wings fluttering just once. “Would it scare you if it was?”

“Scare me?” Prism chuckled, stepping closer again, the soft blue of her underlights catching in the gold of Nyra’s hair. “You already said I don’t scare easy.”

Nyra leaned back against the rail, tail curling lazily. “Then what’s stoppin’ you?”

“Curiosity,” Prism said, lowering her voice. “Figurin’ whether the hospitality of House Swan is as dangerous as the stories say.”

“Depends who’s pourin’ the tea.”

That earned a quiet laugh from the lieutenant—half amused, half impressed. She tilted her head, studying Nyra with the same intensity she used on encrypted data. “Let me guess… since sharks don’t scare you, you probably served in the kink decks. A moth like you—”

Before she could finish, Nyra’s wing swept forward in one smooth motion, brushing against Prism’s chest and stopping her mid-sentence. The touch was light, deliberate.

“What about a moth like me?” Nyra asked, voice low and warm, her southern lilt curling around every syllable. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, sugar?”

Prism blinked once, startled—not from fear, but from the sudden shift in control. The air between them pulsed with the faint hum of resonance crystals, the kind that lined every suite in the Aviary.

Nyra took another slow step forward, wingtip still grazing the leather of Prism’s jacket. “Go on then, soldier. Finish your thought.”

Prism’s grin returned, smaller this time, more genuine. “Maybe I underestimated House Swan.”

“Mm. Most do.” Nyra’s tone was almost a purr. “We ain’t all feathers and frills.”

“No,” Prism said softly, eyes dropping to the delicate edge of the wing against her collar, “you’re razor wire with perfume.”

That drew a delighted laugh from Nyra. “And you talk like someone who’s tryin’ not to enjoy themselves.”

“I’m on duty.”

“So?”

Prism tilted her head. “So flirting with envoys usually ends with paperwork or prison.”

Nyra leaned in just enough that their noses almost touched. “Good thing I don’t mind a little trouble.”

Prism held her gaze, heat building in the small space between them. “You really don’t scare easy, do you?”

“Told you, sugar,” Nyra murmured, wings brushing her again as she stepped past her toward the suite door, “I’ve served tea in House Swan. You soldiers are tame compared to the patrons.”

Prism’s smirk followed her. “Remind me to request reassignment to your sector next Summit.”

“You’d never survive the gossip,” Nyra tossed over her shoulder, opening the door.

“Then you’ll have to keep me outta trouble.”

“Oh honey,” Nyra said with a lazy grin, “trouble’s half the fun.”

Nyra padded toward the kitchenette, bare feet light against the polished stone. The low amber lighting caught the shimmer of her wings as she reached for a glass teapot. “You’re stayin’, right? Would be downright rude to turn down a moth’s hospitality.”

Prism leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the room with casual precision. Every motion looked lazy, but her gauntlet display blinked faintly—silent scans running under her palm. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, voice low. “I like to know what kind of trouble I’m drinking with.”

Nyra laughed, pouring the steeped nectar. The scent filled the air—sweet, spicy, with an undertone of something floral that made Prism’s pupils dilate. “You soldiers always assume someone’s out to drug you.”

“Occupational hazard,” Prism said, taking the offered cup. “Smells better than most interrogations, though.”

Nyra perched on the edge of the table, close enough their knees brushed. “And what are you interrogatin’ me for, sugar?”

Prism swirled the cup slowly. “Maybe I just like hearing how Aviary tea gets its shimmer.”

“That’s a trade secret.”

“Mm.” Prism’s grin curved. “That’s what they all say before they tell me anyway.”

Nyra’s eyes glinted. “Flattery and persistence? You really are her Third.”

“Her what?”

“The Commander’s shadow,” Nyra said. “You orbit close enough to burn.”

Prism chuckled. “You’ve been reading too many tabloids.”

“Or maybe I’ve got eyes.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the suite’s energy lattice filled the silence—warm, intimate. Prism lifted her glass, meeting Nyra’s gaze. “To dangerous company.”

Nyra clinked her glass lightly against hers. “And the fools who enjoy it.”

They drank. The nectar was thick and sweet, coating Prism’s tongue with warmth that buzzed faintly like low voltage. “You put a spell in this?” she asked.

Nyra smiled. “Only one that works if you’re already curious.”

“That so?” Prism leaned in, voice softening. “You think I’m curious?”

Nyra brushed her wingtip against Prism’s cheek, tracing the faint edge of her jaw split. “I think you’re a soldier pretending not to want to stay.”

Prism’s throat worked once before she smirked again, recovering. “And I think you’re an envoy pretending you don’t know what information is worth.”

Nyra tilted her head. “Maybe I like seein’ who’ll ask the right questions.”

“Then let me start.” Prism set her cup down, tone suddenly steady. “House Swan—why the dancers? Why the debt to the Council? You’re not just entertainers.”

The question was too clean to be flirt. Nyra stilled, her expression flickering from playful to cautious. “You really can’t turn it off, can you?”

“Curiosity,” Prism said again, softer.

Nyra sighed, swirling the last of her tea. “House Swan collects beauty and sells it to the highest bidder. The Council calls it art. I call it a gilded cage.”

Prism’s gaze darkened, sympathy flickering for half a heartbeat. “And you?”

“I pour tea,” Nyra said simply. “And pray no one sees how much poison I keep off the table.”

That silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, aware.

Prism finished her drink, setting it down beside hers. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “you make a damn fine cup.”

Nyra smiled again, smaller this time, but real. “And you make fine company for someone who’s supposed to be collectin’ secrets.”

“Maybe I already got what I came for.”

Nyra raised a brow. “And what’s that?”

Prism stood, adjusting her coat. “A reason to come back.”

Nyra’s wings fluttered once, her smile turning soft and dangerous all at once. “Then come back, Lieutenant. I’ll keep the nectar hot.”